Term's Tumblr Prompts and Requests Collection
by Terminal Nostalgia
Summary: -Most of the time Heavy protects Medic. But sometimes it's the other way around. -Grief can be a hard burden to bear, even when you're the bad guy. -'How dare you do that to him after he approached you unarmed during cease-fire? Do you have any morals, any scruples, any kind of conscience at all' -But then the mask. His fingers pause at the hem. (Foe Yay BLU Spy character study)
1. Medic the Mama Bear

_'Anything in which medic is the mama bear of the group' for Anonymous._

* * *

Medic healed Heavy and Heavy protected Medic. That was just how it worked.

Apart from times like this when there were three rounds of shotgun pellets lodged in Heavy's gut, his right leg was broken and there was an angry BLU Pyro baring down on both of them.

Now it Medic was the one protecting Heavy, standing in front of him, coattails flapping in the icy wind. His lips were pulled back into a snarl and his eyes narrowed beneath blood-spattered glasses.

In this moment, he wasn't just a healer. A doctor. A medic.

He was dangerous.

Glinting needles arced from his syringe gun, their trajectory perfectly calculated to bring them raining down on the enemy Pyro.

It wasn't enough to stop the BLU though. With their thick, asbestos lined suit, the needles barely reached the flesh. All it did was make the Pyro angrier.

Just as Medic planned.

He glanced back at Heavy for a moment, his gaze determined. Protective.

Heavy knew him well enough to know that the look meant, _do you trust me?_ And Heavy did. He trusted his Medic to the moon, to the sun, to all the stars and back again.

The scorching heat of the approaching flamethrower filled the air as the enraged Pyro charged straight at them.

Medic braced himself. At the very last second he span away from the flames. Before the BLU could turn to follow him, or aim their weapon down to burn the injured Heavy, Medic thrust his bone saw through the Pyro's side.

Their suit did nothing to protect them from Medic's stab. He was fuelled by the wild, primordial rage of someone who will do anything to protect what they care about most in the world.

The flamethrower fell from the Pyro's limp hands, and they followed down after it. Medic wrenched out his saw, covered in blood and gore, his coattails singed.

For a moment, Heavy glimpsed that desperate, feral snarl on Medic's face.

Then it was gone. It slipped away as if it'd never been there, while Medic adjusted his glasses and put away his bone saw.

'Now hold still while I heal you,' he scolded. The only emotion in his voice and on his face was that of mild annoyance. Even though Heavy hadn't moved at all, he didn't argue. And he didn't bring up what had just happened.

They'd all learnt not to. Medic would willingly throw himself into a burning look-out post to rescue Sniper, or drag Demoman away to safety from the middle of a rocket fight, or fight the enemy Soldier head-on to protect an injured Scout, but he hated anybody going on about it. He'd shrug and say he was just doing his job at best, and threatened them with unnecessary surgery at worst.

So Heavy never said anything, but it made him smile to think of what a mama bear Medic could really be.


	2. Even Villains Grieve

_'Cheavy finding out Bea is dead,' for Anonymous._

* * *

The problem with mercilessly slaughtering all your enemies is that afterwards there's no one left to take revenge on. The Classic Heavy wished he'd at least kept the RED Soldier alive so he could have tortured him to death and completed their Pyro's work.

A part of him still refused to believe it was true. He'd already had a call from their Engineer saying that Demoman and Spy were dead. That had been terrible enough. He'd fought alongside those men for so many years that he'd almost forgotten they weren't immortal. To lose two of his most reliable men in one go had been a terrible reminder.

But to lose their Pyro...

To lose his Bea...

It wasn't possible.

She was the meanest, toughest and most loyal member of his team. She could take out a whole SWAT team with just her fire axe and a couple of well-timed smoke bombs. She was determined and dangerous and refused to ever give up on a mission, even when half her face and one eye had been burned away. Bea was unstoppable, insurmountable, unkillable.

And now she was dead.

The Classic Heavy knew he should go down there. Should go and see her. But he couldn't. He wanted to remember her as someone alive and well and merciless, not a broken thing lying on the basement floor.

He kicked the Russian woman's limp arm. Was it her or the Soldier who'd killed his Bea? With both of them already dead, he'd never know.

Grief gave way to pointless, undirected anger and he slammed his boot into the Demoman's side hard enough to roll the corpse onto its side. A red mist descended and he did it again and again, kicking every yielding body on the ground. For a moment he thought he saw the RED Spy move, so he turned on him and kicked and kicked and kicked until he was sure once and for all that the Frenchman would never move again.

But even with the limp bodies scattered across the ground like abandoned rag dolls, the rage and hatred still blazed behind the Classic Heavy's goggles. It wasn't enough. It couldn't even begin to cut through the pain.

Then his eyes narrowed.

But of course.

This wasn't their full team, was it? There were still three REDS unaccounted for, another running loose on the base without a weapon or even a shirt, and one other as well...

He'd never even wanted that mad doctor to work with them, and how he'd gone and spent most of their medical budget bringing an enemy back to life.

It was funny really, the only reason he'd ever put up with the insufferable German was because Bea said they needed him. Now Bea was gone, and along with her, the only thing stopping him from ripping that crazy foreign bastard apart.

The Classic Heavy pulled his back lips into a grim smile. Time to go and pay the Medic another little visit.


	3. How Dare You

Micro story prompt for an anon that I got a little too carried away with.

 **How Dare You**

* * *

'How dare you?' the BLU Sniper spat, raising his fist. The Spy flinched, face still smarting from the Sniper's fist right hook.

He had no idea what he'd done. Well, at least not this time. If anything, he should be the one acting all righteously angry after the Sniper ruined his suit with jarate the day before.

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' Spy replied coolly. 'Either get this over with and kill me, or else give me my balisong back, turn your back on me and count to ten. You do know how to count to ten, don't you, bushman?'

The Sniper was practically vibrating with rage, his raised arm noticeably shaking. His face was twisted in anger behind his tinted glasses and Spy still couldn't work out for the life of him why.

'You fucking bastard! You snivelling little coward!'

'Really now, name calling? How old are you, Sniper? Mentally, I mean.'

'Shut. The. Fuck. Up. How dare you do that to him after he approached you unarmed during cease-fire? Do you have any morals, any scruples, any kind of conscience at all?'

Oh? Oh. Ohhhhhhh.

The BLU Scout.

'He had no right to be on RED territory. He was just asking for trouble.'

'No right? No right to try and speak to his own _father_? Do you know how many weeks it took me to persuade him that as much of a snake as you are, you're human too? That of course you'd give him a chance? That of course you'd want to make amends after fucking his and his mother's lives up so fucking much?'

'Well, it's the boy's problem if-'

'No. No it isn't. He shouldn't have been the one to have to reach out to you. He shouldn't have been the one to approach you. You should have come to him grovelling, fucking _grovelling_ on your hands and knees, to ask for his forgiveness. But no, you were never going to do that because you're a spineless little worm. So _he_ comes to you. He crosses over into enemy territory. He offers the olive branch and you shoot him. You shoot your _son_.'

Something flickered inside the Spy. A little spark of guilt that licked up his spine. He snorted derisively and waved a hand, pushing away the feeling and the Sniper's accusations.

'He was a BLU on RED territory. Of course I shot him. I've shot him many times before, stabbed him too. Don't pretend he hasn't returned the favour many times over with _much_ fervour. The fact that biologically he is my prodigy makes no difference. He's still just the enemy.'

The Sniper seemed to deflate at that, his hands falling to his side. 'Just the enemy…' he repeated, his voice faint.

'Besides,' the Spy continued, seeking to drive home his advantage,'What does he need me for? From what I've seen of your interactions he practically thinks of you as some weird, smelly, uncouth father figure.' The Sniper had never been one for bonding with other people, so the Spy expected him to get embarrassed, to deny the suggestion and distance himself from the Scout.

Instead the Sniper's hands balled into fists again and he pulled himself up to his full height. Glaring down at the Spy, he said, 'You know what, I'm not perfect, and I've never claimed to be. But at least I'm there for the kid. At least I respect him. At least I listen to him and give him advice and take him fishing and do my damn best to try and steer him down a better path than either of us went down.

'And do you know why? It's because he's a good kid. A good kid with real talents, wasted because he's had no guidance in life. His mother's done her best by him but raising nine kids by yourself, damn that can't be easy. Scout needs a father figure. It might not be a job I ever asked for but I'll be damned if I turn the kid away when you already have so many times.

'And do you know what else? You don't deserve him. He looked up to you when he was little, even though you were never around. Damn near hero-worshipped you, and what do you do when he tries to reach out to you? You shoot him in cold blood. You're a bastard, Spy. A fucking bastard and you aren't worth a second of that boy's time. If you won't be there for him, then who fucking cares? I'll be! And I'll do a damn better job of it than you ever would.'

For once in his life, the Spy couldn't think of anything to say. Errant little phrases, all bitter and snide coiled around in his head but he couldn't find where they ended or where they began.

The Sniper turned away with him with a sigh, his shoulders slumping again as he shook his head.

The Spy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to finally spit out a retort.

Before he could, the Sniper spun back around and slammed his fist into the Spy's nose. The Spy collapsed to his knees, back arched and hands clapped over his face.

The Sniper spat on the ground, turned his back on him and walked away.

The Spy wasn't worth the Scout time, and he wasn't worth the Sniper's either.


	4. Vulpes

**I thought I'd upload this one as well. It's short but it gives you a couple of bits of info about the BLU Spy from Foe Yay that might not end up in the actual fic.**

 **Unfortunately though, I really cannot take on any more requests at the moment. I'm just so busy with so much stuff, and it's about to get worse.**

 **Anon prompt: 'Undone' for Foe Yay BLU Spy**

* * *

It's the same ritual every night.

He opens his wardrobe and angles the full-length mirror on the inside of the door towards him.

Off with the jacket. Hang it up neatly. Off with the tie, watching the dark blue knot snake undone. Add that to his tie rack. Twenty different silk ties and he only ever wears two of them. Pity.

Then the shirt; pop each button undone one at a time. Bundle it up and toss it in the hamper. His chest exposed now. A light scattering of hair. A light scattering of scars. He's slim. Always has been. Doesn't seem to be able to put weight on. He turns his left shoulder away from the mirror. The burn scars there have faded over time but he still hates them. It's a reminder that he's not perfect, not anymore.

The belt is next. Supple leather. He holds it is his hands for a moment, testing it, thinking about how nicely it would go around a certain throat. Places it aside.

He shucks off the trousers, hangs them up. Peels the socks off, tosses them in the hamper. His underwear comes off with as little ceremony.

But then the mask. His fingers pause at the hem. He watches himself. Watches himself watching himself.

Tugs it up his neck. Small movements, shifting the front then the back until it's over his chin. Grasps the back of it in one hand. Pulls it over his head. Casts aside the mask too. He hates the feel of in his hands, so thin, so flimsy.

Looks back at himself. Still a man and not a monster. Light brown hair, dishevelled. He smooths it down. Brushes the hair away from his right temple. Still there of course. Another scar that will never leave him. The grey is starting to show through at the roots again. The hair's never come back through brown since then. He's got other grey strands to match now. No one ever sees them. He dyes his hair religiously all the same.

Same eyes as ever. Hooded. Glacial blue. Same thin lips. Same high cheekbones. Same stubble. He likes the feeling of been clean-shaven best but knows this looks suits him.

Whoever he is.

This man under the mask.

He hasn't used his original name in so long. Cast it aside without a pause. Hasn't used the second one on years either. It never held any significance.

Nor have any of the others he's used. He's been so many different men over so many different years.

So who is he now?

An idea, an identity has been at the edge of his mind for weeks now.

Unknowingly gifted to him by the object of his obsession.

He takes it, as he's always taken anything he wants.

He smirks at his reflection and Renard smirks back.


	5. Pillow Talk

**Ficlet for terrifyingtiny-t-rex on Tumblr**

 **Prompt:'Sniper/Spy forced bed sharing'**

* * *

'Sniper, get in the bed.'

'What?' a muffled voice asked in the dark from somewhere to Spy's right.

Spy sighed. 'I said get in the bed.'

'What?'

Well this wasn't going anywhere fast. Spy had always told Sniper just how stupid he thought he was, but this was really something else.

'Get. In. The. Bed.'

Sniper shifted on the floor, sheets rustling. 'You want me to sleep with you?' he asked. Spy didn't have to be able to see him to know there was a crooked smirk on Sniper's face.

Spy rolled his eyes and sat up. 'You don't have to sleep,' he clarified, realising when Sniper sniggered quietly that that hadn't helped at all. He scowled at Sniper in the dark. 'You just have to stop all that huffing and puffing and fidgeting so _I_ can go to sleep!'

'I'm fine down here thanks,' Sniper grumbled.

Stubborn, insufferable bushman.

'No, you're not. I can hear the crackling sounds your back is making from up here.'

'Hey! It's not that...it's not that bad.'

'Yes it is. You should really go see Medic about it.'

That shut Sniper up. For a short while the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of the bedside clock on the cabinet next to Spy. It was set to go off at six in the morning, an hour before their target would be leaving the hotel. It was now one in the morning and Sniper's claim that he could sleep anywhere had been proven wrong by a thinly carpeted floor.

'You stay to your side, I stay to mine, we both get a few hours sleep,' Spy said. 'If you're so tired tomorrow you can't even make the shot, the Administrator will not be pleased.

'I always make my shot.'

'Oh yes,' Spy drawled, 'because that time you shot the enemy Medic's medigun just as he activated an ubercharge, splashing his entire team in the charge, was definitely what you intended to do.'

Another silence, this one filled with sulking.

'I sneezed,' Sniper admitted reluctantly.

Spy muffled a snort of laughter. 'And maybe tomorrow you will yawn and miss your shot. Get in the bed, Sniper.'

Sniper sighed. Then the sheets rustled more, Sniper's back and knees creaking slightly as he stood up. He fumbled his way over to the bed, legs connecting with the side of it if his cursing was anything to go.

The cover hit Spy's lap as Sniper threw it back and got in, the mattress dipping under his weight.

'Good thing it's a double,' Sniper said as he tugged the cover back over himself, hand accidentally brushing against Spy's thigh through the fabric.

'Queen sized, actually,' Spy said as he lay back down again.

'Whatever.'

It was odd having Sniper's voice come from so nearby in the dark, just a pillow away. Spy settled down with his back to Sniper, shifting as far away as he could without falling off the bed.

'Just warning you you might regret this though,' Sniper said. 'I always hog the covers.'

'I'm sure I'll cope somehow,' Spy promised. He was too tired to think of a wittier retort.

He expected it would take ages to fall asleep that night but it turned out that a twelve hour flight, one foiled assassination attempt and two high-speed car chases really took it out of a guy.

* * *

Spy woke to gentle snoring and the sudden urge to stab someone. He tried to sit up only to find that Sniper had been right. During the night, he'd stolen all the cover. And it looked as though Spy had been right as well. Unconscious Spy had found a way to cope, by following the disappearing cover and wrapping himself around Sniper in his sleep for warmth.

One arm was trapped underneath Sniper. If he tried to move, it would wake Sniper up. If he didn't move, Sniper would still wake up with them like this...

'Merde,' Spy muttered.

Then the alarm went off.


End file.
